


with me

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: The air is thick with savory cooked meat, warm baked sweets, and something smokier and familiar. I can slowly begin placing them as I wake up, put them together with the sound of sizzling and clinking metal muffled by the wall between me and the kitchen.There’s a warmth in the room around me, steam and heat dissipating from the open bathroom door.The smokey scent is buried in the fibres of the pillow I’ve still got my face pressed into and the blanket pulled up to my chin. It surrounds me as I sink, loose-limbed, into the mattress.Simon.--AKA, The One Where Simon Belongs
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 137
Collections: Golden Days: a Simon Snow Series zine





	with me

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends, a while ago someone thought I deserved to be included in the Golden Days Zine (wild, right?) and this is the fic I wrote for that. 
> 
> writing this destroyed me emotionally for a while, so i hope you like it?

**BAZ**

The air is thick with savory cooked meat, warm baked sweets, and something smokier and familiar. I can slowly begin placing them as I wake up, put them together with the sound of sizzling and clinking metal muffled by the wall between me and the kitchen.

There’s a warmth in the room around me, steam and heat dissipating from the open bathroom door.

The smokey scent is buried in the fibres of the pillow I’ve still got my face pressed into and the blanket pulled up to my chin. It surrounds me as I sink, loose-limbed, into the mattress.

_Simon_.

Simon can’t have been up too long if the room’s still steamy from his shower. He must be the one banging around in the kitchen.

I let myself lie in a little longer, keep my eyes shut and let my mind wander. It roams back to last night, to Simon’s arms around me and his lips on my skin. It’s never more than that, just snogging until we’re both worked up—and then he stops. Which is fine, he’s not ready, and I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with whatever he gives me, because he’s giving me _something_. At first he was giving me everything, but then he started to pull away. Pulling back, stiff-lipped, from kisses, or finding an excuse to wriggle out of my arms. I pretended that I didn’t notice for a while, pretended that it didn’t hurt to have him slipping away. I almost had myself convinced of it for a bit, but after I finally gave in to the fact that I’m in love with Simon Snow, it’s been hard to pull back and try lying to myself all over again.

The past months have been hard for him. For all of us, really.

It’s late August now, we’ll start university next month. Penelope is well chuffed by the prospect, of course. I think I am, too, on some level, but it keeps getting washed over by concern for Simon. He’s never been one for school, never been the greatest student. It honestly took a lot of convincing to get him this far, but Penelope and I spent weeks and weeks assuring him that it would be okay, that these courses would be far different from the ones we took at Watford. That all he has to do is try.

I know this isn’t what he wants, that he’s only doing it because he thinks he’s supposed to. I want him to do what he _wants_ to do, but we’re still working on figuring out exactly what that is.

_“I just want to… to breathe, I think. I dunno_.”

“ _To breathe?”_

_“I’ve never_ not _been training for_ something _, have I? I don’t— I just— don’t know what—_ Baz— _”_

_“It’s okay—”_

_“No, it’s bloody not okay!”_

_“Simon—”_

_“I’m tired. We should go to sleep.”_

We never get far with that conversation. With most conversations.

I don’t know what Simon wants, and I don’t think he truly does either.

And I don’t know what we need to do to reach the point where he _does_.

“Good morning, darling.”

I don’t want to open my eyes. If I’m still dreaming, I just want it to go on a little longer…

The mattress shifts as Simon settles on the edge, the weight of his hand on my hip assuring me that I’m not dreaming.

I never thought I’d honestly wake up in a world where Simon Snow called me ‘darling’. Yet, here we are.

“Is being nocturnal part of the vampire thing, or are you just a bum?” Simon asks, his lips curled up in a soft smile as I open one eye to glare at him.

“I’m not _nocturnal_ , Snow,” I mutter, turning onto my back so I can look up at him. He’s infuriatingly lovely, blue eyes shining, curls still damp and hanging over his forehead. He must’ve washed his hair, he washes it far too often. I’ve been trying to teach him proper hair care, but the monstrosity just doesn’t learn.

“Could fool me.”

“Just because I don’t wake at the arse of dawn like you?”

Simon’s laugh is soft, it bubbles from his throat, and his eyes are even softer. His hand’s still resting on my hip, more my thigh now since I moved.

I could take it, intertwine our fingers. It’d be easy, quick, and I’d have his palm pressed to mine. Feel that fire burn across my skin solely from his touch, torching me even more than simply being in the presence of his beaming face. (He’s not even _beaming_ , his smile is small, not even showing teeth, but it still feels like I’m staring into a too-bright light, like I’m meeting the sun face to face. I have to look away.)

I stare at his hand, at mine just a few inches away on the blankets.

I think he sees me staring, I see his hand tense. I could take it, hold it between both of mine, gently massage the tension away.

Just as I lift my hand Simon moves, pushes himself off the mattress and stands a bit awkwardly by the side of the bed.

“I, uhm, I made, uh, breakfast—if you’re hungry,” he says, his words nearly stumbling over themselves to get past his lips. He clears his throat, uses his shoulder to gesture to the door, to the kitchen, “I’m famished, all that cooking—so, uhm—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Turns on his heel and walks back out of the room.

I have to repress the groan rumbling in my chest, let my head fall back into the pillow.

I almost wish _this_ were the dream. That I’d wake up, and it’d be like two months ago, when Simon still felt like _mine_ , like he wanted me.

But I throw that thought away immediately.

**SIMON**

I saw him staring. At my hand. I knew he was going to grab it, of course he wanted to grab it, I’m his boyfriend, and it makes complete sense that he’d want to hold my hand.

But I’m a terrible boyfriend. I saw it, and I ran away as fast as I could.

It’s not that I _don’t_ want to hold Baz’s hand, or be close to him. I do.

Don’t I?

Well, I’ve never quite been in this position, have I? Sure, I’ve been someone’s boyfriend before, but I’ve never been my ex-nemesis’s boyfriend. I’ve held Agatha’s hand, and I’ve even slept in the same bed as her a few times.

But I never woke up in her arms and felt immediately suffocated, at first by the proximity of a human body and then by the guilt at feeling suffocated by my own boyfriend.

That’s what happened this morning, why I was up so early. I woke up and Baz was _right there_ and his arm was slung across my waist, and I could feel his breath against my cheek, and it made my skin crawl. Not because it was Baz, I don’t think, but just because it was _someone_.

I don’t let myself explore the possibility that it’s because of Baz, and I’m not sure if that comes out of fear and denial or the bone-deep knowledge that I love him.

I do love him. More than I knew I was capable of loving someone, in ways that I didn’t know I could love someone. That’s the terrifying part. I always knew Baz was an important part of my life, I just… thought it was because we were meant to fight, to kill each other.

Maybe we still are.

I shake my thoughts away when I hear someone shuffling into the kitchen behind me. I assume it’s Baz, I’m almost afraid to turn around and see the disappointment on his face.

I do turn and I feel my shoulders fall a bit in relief when I find it’s Penny. My relief must be too visible, because she furrows her brows a bit and asks, “Alright, Simon?”

I nod. “Alright.” She watches me carefully, like she doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her, I wouldn’t believe me either. “Made breakfast. If you’re hungry.”

“Thank you.” She finally pulls her eyes from me and steps further into the kitchen, grabs a piece of toast from the counter and chews at the corner thoughtfully for a moment before, “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“‘Course.”

“Because if you’re not, you know you can talk to me, yeah?” Penny reminds me. She and Baz both find it important to remind me that I can talk to them, as if I could forget. They’re always asking me how I am, how I’m feeling, if I need anything.

Sometimes I wish they’d just...

“Yeah.” I say.

Penny watches me for a long minute, and I try not to squirm under her gaze.

She and Baz are always watching me, too; maybe _that’s_ why everything feels so suffocating.

**BAZ**

Penelope and Simon have already sat down to eat when I finally enter the kitchen. Simon’s still shoveling down food when I join them with a small plate of my own.

“Good morning, Basil,” Penelope greets me, and Simon looks up at me with a tight smile.

I try not to let that smile cut into me as much as it does.

“Morning.”

“Have you boys got any plans today?”

Simon doesn’t look at me as he shakes his head.

“Well,” Penelope continues. “Maybe we should all go do something? Cinema, maybe? The park?”

“That sounds nice,” I offer. Penelope and I both look at Simon, who visibly shrinks under our gaze.

“Think I’d rather just… stay here,” he murmurs. Penelope frowns.

“Simon, when’s the last time you left the flat?” He shrugs. Penelope’s frown deepens. “We should all go out then, yeah?”

“I don’t _want_ to go out, Penny.” Simon’s jaw is clenched as he stares at his plate. I’m used to that tone, that look, but it’s usually aimed at me. I’ve never seen him speak this way to Penelope Bunce of all people.

“Simon—”

“Just stop!” He drops his fork, slams a fist on the table.

Penelope and I both flinch back from his sudden outburst.

“Just _lay off_ , both of you, will you? I don’t _want_ to go out, I don’t want to _talk_ , I don’t want to feel like your bloody charity case! So, will you both just— just move the fuck on already?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Penelope and I stare at Simon, whose eyes are still boring into the tabletop, chin jutted out like he’s about to fight.

“What the hell are you on about?” Penelope finally asks. “‘Move on’? From what? From caring about you?”

“ _Yes._ ”

I stare at him.

Is he bloody serious?

**SIMON**

As much as some of my peers at Watford would believe it, I’m not an idiot. I know they would both be better off if they moved on from me, and my… _issues_.

Penny and Baz are made of magic. They eat, sleep, and _breathe_ magic. It’s all there is for them, and I’m not _that_ anymore. I’m not part of their world anymore, I don’t _belong_ with them anymore.

My wings twitch behind me.

No, even with these I don’t belong in their world. I don’t know where I do belong, but it’s not here.

I’m not magic anymore, I’m a… a monster.

A tragedy.

A fucking tragedy, that’s what Baz called me in the woods that night, and he was right.

But they don’t have to be part of my tragedy anymore.

“Simon, what the—” Baz starts, and I cut him off.

“Snow.”

“What?” His dark brows are furrowed, gathering in the middle of his forehead. I absently wonder if vampires get wrinkles, then shake the thought aside as I realize I’ll never have the chance to learn.

“You don’t have to pretend to be soft with me anymore.”

Baz looks bewildered, and Penny’s eyes are wide, they look like they’d pop out of her head if it weren’t for her glasses.

“You two would make brilliant flat mates,” I add quickly.

“ _Snow_ , shut up,” Baz snaps. Baz hasn’t snapped at me in months, it’s almost welcomingly familiar.

“Would you care to explain why you’ve suddenly gone mental?” Penny asks, and I bristle.

“I’ve not gone mental.”

Penny doesn’t look convinced, and now Baz is glaring at me. The world feels like it’s pulling itself back upright all of a sudden, at least, with that look from each of them.

Baz is glaring at me, and snapping at me to shut up. I know what to do with this, I understand this. This makes sense.

“Well, you’re certainly not making any sense, are you?” I see Penny’s hand reach over the table, and I jerk my own back before I realize I’m doing it. Her hand falls, and I can _feel_ the concern rolling off her. It’s making me nauseous.

“I don’t belong with you lot anymore, do I? I’ve not got magic, not that I was ever good at it anyway. You don’t have to pretend, you don’t have to… to be here anymore.”

“Sorry, Snow, I didn’t realize we needed your bloody permission,” Baz sneers. I almost collapse, relieved. Probably I shouldn’t feel this way being snarked and snapped at, but it’s just _right_. Baz being mean is how things should be, it’s _normal_.

I just want things to go back to normal. Not… not Normal, but how they were… _before_. Before everything went to shit, before I defeated the Humdrum, before I learned the Humdrum’s existence was my fault, that it was _me_.

Before everyone learned that I truly was the greatest threat to the World of Mages.

Not a threat anymore, am I?

Not… anything anymore.

**BAZ**

I’m not sure what’s gotten into Snow. I’m not sure _he_ knows what’s gotten into him.

He’s sitting there across from Bunce and I, eyes boring into the table top, shoulders hunched in on himself. Even his wings are somehow hunched over him.

I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to fix whatever it is that’s going on with him.

“That is absolute bullshit, Simon,” Bunce barks.

That’s one way to go about this.

Bunce has earned a lot of my respect lately, and I admire how she’s never afraid to call Snow out, especially in this instance, because I’m a bit hesitant to do it myself.

“You know good and well that you belong here, with us. With _me_. You always have and you always will, now, just… stop this.”

Bunce looks absolutely livid. I’ve seen this fire in her eyes during a class debate, or when she’s trying to puzzle out how to get Simon and herself out of a magickal creature attack. I’ve not seen that heat directed at Snow, and it’s obvious by the stricken look on his face that he’s not, either.

“Penny—”

“Shut _up_ , Simon!” Bunce snaps, slaps her hands on the table. “You’ve said enough, now it’s time to listen.” She stands up from her chair, leaning on her palms toward him. Bunce hasn’t got a lot of height to her, but she sure knows how to use what she’s got to intimidate. “This hasn’t been easy for any of us, especially not you, and I know that. You made a huge sacrifice for the World of Mages, and you lost a lot in the process, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your place here.”

“You’re arguably the most important person in the Magickal community,” I submit, and Bunce allows it. Nods along.

“Precisely. Even if you weren’t, you’re one of the most important people in _my_ world, Simon Snow.” Bunce turns her head to me at this, and I know what I’m meant to add now.

“Mine as well.” It’s easier to admit than I expected, and I hope I’m not making up the flicker in Snow’s eyes when he hears it. “I’ve told you once, but it bears repeating: you aren’t going to lose me, Simon.”

“Or me.” Bunce falls back, settles into her chair and stretches a hand out across the table. “Now, let that all sink in as long as you need, but don’t you _dare_ say you don’t belong here _ever again_. Magic or no magic, I’m not letting you run away from me, Simon.”

Snow doesn’t move for a long moment.

Then he lifts his hand and rests it on top of Penelope’s, squeezes. When I look at his face his eyes are wet, misty, as he looks at her. I always thought they had some kind of strange telepathic link that allows them to talk with just a look, and the way they each crack just the hint of a smile a moment later only further proves that.

I almost envy Penelope Bunce’s connection with him, and I say almost because at least _I_ get to snog him.

I hope I still get to snog him, at least. I hope to have the chance to build a connection like that with him, as well. We lost out on seven years thanks to hatred and fear, and I don’t want to lose out on anymore because of anything else. I know that’s not entirely up to me, but I like to think that, when he’s not in this headspace of feeling like he doesn't belong, he doesn’t want to lose out on anymore time either.

Snow’s gaze shifts over to me, his blue eyes pooling and staring right into my soul. It feels that way at least, it feels like he _can_ see right through me already, even if I can’t get past his barred windows.

His other hand is on the table, it takes me too long to realize that. Palm up. Outstretched to me.

I take it. Squeeze, let him squeeze mine.

It’s only mildly embarrassing, being soft in front of Bunce, but if the moment calls for it…

“I choose you,” I whisper, a reminder. “Everyday, Simon. Even when you’re being a muppet.”

I don’t know if this whole morning will really make a difference, if Simon will remember it and not feel so… out of place anymore. Maybe it won’t, but I’m ready to remind him that I choose him, everyday, and that he’s not as outcast as he feels. That he’ll always have a place here, with us.

With _me_.


End file.
